Son of the Devil
by the Unrequited Lover
Summary: As the child of a Valerious, Vlad should have taken that name. Instead, he is Dracula, which means 'son of the devil.' Why is this? And can a Child of Satan ever be accepted into heaven? By an angel? Rated for blasphemy.
1. Consequences of a Bargain

_a/n: At 3:00 or so in the morning I woke up due to some odd dreams, so I couldn't get back to sleep. I started listening to Vanessa Carlton's Harmonium. When I got to Private Radio I figured everything out from my tangled mess of dream-thoughts and this concept floated through my mind. Since I wouldn't sleep anyway, I decided to write it down. Here it is! And Satan has a lot of names, I notised._

"Do you accept these terms?"

"I accept them," Vladislaus said, and cut his hand with the knife, wincing at the sting yet smiling in triumph just the same. Finally. He'd live forever.

Lucifer cut his own hand and held it out to him. Vladislaus hesitated, only for a moment, and took it to close the bargain they'd made.

A sort of sick horror came over him and he suddenly had a feeling of loss, of unspeakable weakness. It was something he couldn't quite place.

"As I drain you of emotion," Lucifer said calmly, maliciously, "you will drain others of their blood. As you lose your soul to me, they will lose their lives to you. You are _nosferatu_. A vampire."

"Y-you didn't say that," gasped Vladislaus, falling to his knees.

"I said there would be consequences, didn't I?" Lucifer retorted with an ugly grimace, enjoying the scene as though a play unfolding before his unholy eyes. "I just didn't specify which ones."

Pain ripped across his back and flesh parted, the bloody wings tearing out. Vladislaus experienced the agony slowly and gave a shudder. "W-what am I? He asked, panicked. "What is happening to me?"

"Forever is a long time," Lucifer said smugly. "You'll need to be well-equipped."

"In this inhuman form?" pleaded Vladislaus. "It's fit for nothing but killing!"

"You'll do little else," came the cold reply.

Vladislaus' eyes widened. He was shaking his head and backing up slowly, as though his body knew to escape despite how his mind knew he was trapped by his own doings. "But- but what about…?"

"Your emotions?" laughed Satan. "What do you care for them? You have no heart!"

Vladislaus stood, staggered back and fell as he thought it over. It took him little time to realise his fate. "Oh, God, " he whispered, pain half blinding him.

For a moment anger seemed to course through Satan's veins. He gripped the helpless figure by the head and said, "There are no Gods here! Not for one in Hell- God has abandoned you. He has left you to burn! You'd be in a lake of fire now if it weren't for me! Aren't you glad for me? What I've done?"

Vladislaus' eyes rolled back into his head as though he were reading his own mind. By the moan that escaped his lips, it looked like he did not like what he read. The immortal words that had been worked into his brain as a young man in the Order of the Dragon were called forth: _Our Father, who art in Heaven…._

Lucifer put even more pressure on his tortured head until he thought it would split. "Not your father anymore. Your father is in Hell. You are the son of the Devil," and he offered no forgiveness or redemption. Only a cruel smile.

"And your father you will obey," he finished, stepping back among his horde of demons, who screamed with pleasure at the sight of Vladislaus' anguish. The Earth swallowed them whole, and left Vladislaus alone in the night. But there was to be no peace for him.

Wounds sealing, injuries healing, just as the Morningstar has promised, Vladislaus crawled to the lake's edge to see what he looked like- to see if the liar had, at least, kept part of the bargain, ensuring his looks and youth would remain.

Vladislaus started at the unbroken, unblemished surface of the water with dry lips, gazing upon only the moon's reflection and the detached beauty it graced the lake with.

He dropped his head and clamped his hands over his ears, wishing to drown out any noise. In a few hours the sun would rise, and he did not know what he would do then. If someone had stumbled across that particular area then, they would have heard his despairing voice whisper to the world and to himself:

"Son of the Devil? Oh, God, what have I done?"


	2. Questions from an Angel

_A/n: Special thanks to Gica (read Agnus Dei on pain of bloody torture and an even bloodier death!! Read and Review!!) for the help with my OC- she suggested names, and the colour of her hair and eyes, and also provided moral support. She's one of my best friends! Either read this as a story or read only the first chapter as a one-shot, which it originally was, but then I had another Carlton-inspired dream (this time Half a week before the Winter) and went on. The story is dark, but not that dark. I think I do enough dark. I need to do something clean._

Dawn. He was weak- weak and half-blinded. Pain engulfed his senses and he could feel it building up in his skull. He knew he needed to feed- and what he needed to feed upon. Somehow he was not as sickened by the thought as he should have been, which sickened him in itself. He knew he could barely stand, and knew that if he fed he'd have the strength to. He would be able to escape.

He heard the sounds of dogs and men approaching, most likely hunters. There was nothing he could do. He cracked his eyes open and light poured in, but he soon adjusted. The sky was grey, and it looked like it would rain. A dog came over to him, sniffing. He felt its warm, wet tongue lick his face, and the sound of its heartbeat was nearly overwhelming. Mechanically, automatically, his hands shot up and seized the now whimpering animal, and brought its neck to his mouth. Shame now coursing through him, he felt the odd feeling of one's canines lengthening and sunk his teeth into the fur, draining it of its blood swiftly.

There were shouts, although he paid them no mind. He felt himself grow stronger in a morbid fascination and he found his way to his feet, then roughly wiped the smeared blood from his face.

He shook his head to see but soon found that was unnecessary as he gave a cry of pain as the blade of a hunting knife was thrust through his ribs, then another cut his arm, his shoulder, stabbing at him repeatedly. The wounds should have been healing, he thought, but they weren't…or were they? Perhaps it took time for the spell to take hold. He groaned and kicked the man before him, then flung the other away. He heard the others yelling and fled from the clearing, heading into the dark of the shadowy forest. He felt the sun life and his vision became blurry…was he about to pass out? He fell to his knees…well, it seemed he was...blacking…out.

_---later---_

He felt a light pressure on his temples moving in a circular motion. It was somewhat calming, relieving him of the burning headache he had. He could hear a faint song being hummed in the background, and he painstakingly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a deep, dark green- was he still in the forest? Then his eyes focused and he became aware of eyes, full of concern. A pointed button nose, and beneath it, a girl's lips. A girl was humming to him, was massaging his aching head. She had black hair in tight, tiny curls, messy and cluttered with the odd leaf or twig.

"Where….?" He managed, and the girl hushed him, removing her fingers from his head. "Shhh," she said in a soothing tone of voice. "Please. You had a rough day."

"Day?" he repeated, dazed. She nodded and brushed some of her hair from her wide eyes. "Yes. I found you this morning unconscious, and you've been sleeping this entire time. It's evening now."

He sat up a bit and took in his surroundings slowly. He was lying in a bed, in a small home that she seemed to live in alone. He glanced down and saw that she had stripped him of his shirt. She was quick to explain.

"You were bleeding badly, when I found you, anyway. I had to treat the wounds," she said hurriedly. He nodded, never once taking away his gaze.

"Speaking of which, lie back down while I check those out," she said, and he complied. It was a curious feeling, he decided, to have her fingertips on his chest, running along the bandages she had placed upon him while he slept. Her hands were cold at first, but he warmed to her touch quickly.

Finally she set her hand upon his forehead and her brow furrowed. "You have a fever," she said to him. "I think…I think you'll have to stay with me for a while, Sir. Your wife won't mind terribly, will she?"

He laughed harshly. "Count, actually. And I am unmarried."

She nodded briefly, biting her lip. "I'll make you a tea, Count-"

"-but don't call me that. My name is Vladislaus."

She bowed her head. "Oh course, my Lord. Forgive me-"

"-Vladislaus. There is nothing to forgive, Miss….ah…." he tried a smirk in amusement and failed. "I don't believe you've told me _your _name, which is unfortunate as I have shared my own."

She blushed a bit at her impolite actions and said, "I'm….I'm Sironka."

He tried to smirk again, but it still didn't work like it should have. He was too tired. "I'm charmed to meet you, Lady Sironka."

"Lady of the Woods, perhaps," she snorted in retort, and left to make the tea. He leaned back against the pillows and waited patiently for her to return.

She did and handed him a cup of tea. It smelled like honey.

"I insist upon you drinking it," she said firmly, sitting in the seat beside the bed. He did not immediately comply, instead asking with a polite but detached air, "What is it?"

"It is tea, Count Vladislaus; it will help with the slight fever you have. And help you to sleep. You need sleep."

"Fever…?" he repeated, frowning slightly. "Have I really got one?"

She nodded and leaned forwards, washing off the remaining bloodstains from his skin with a warm, wet cloth. She paid no attention to him, but rather to the wounds. "You were delirious a little while ago," she continued, dipping the cloth into a bowl of water. The water reddened with his blood. "Crying out…praying frantically to God, and cursing him for leaving you with Lucifer, or something."

He froze a bit, then acted as though he wasn't fazed. He took a drink of the warm liquid in the cup, which was surprisingly good. He continued to drink it.

He felt the cloth against his skin gently, careful not to harm him where it already hurt.

"Have you considered going to a Priest about it? A confession, perhaps," she went on lightly. He took her wrist lightly, not enough to hurt her but enough to capture her attention.

Her eyes met his, confused. He marveled at the colour, then cleared his throat. "You do not know about the situation you're talking about. A Priest will do me no good."

Sironka stared back at him. "What could you have done that is so bad even God has forsaken you?" she asked him.

He held her gaze seriously. "That I can not say."

The girl nodded, her expression strangely unreadable, and immersed herself in rinsing the injuries. He leaned back, watching her quietly, before he felt himself grow tired, the tea taking hold. As he fell asleep, he slowly forgot her green eyes upon his face.


	3. Dealing with a Demon

_A/n: Special thanks to Gica (SilverFlover), whose story _Agnus Dei_ is one of the best and if you haven't read it yet, you're missing out, because fluff makes me smile, and because I love cherries so much! Dracula wasn't at my concert! How disappointing!_

Rain. It had begun raining after he'd fallen asleep, and gone from a light drizzle to a pouring onslaught. Still she sat beside him and gazed upon his sleeping face. Some people looked innocent when they slept, but he didn't. He just looked bored.

Sironka sighed and brushed some of his dark hair away from his face. She watched him indifferently, fingering the silky strands, then let it slip from her fingers and the back of her hand brushed against his face.

A curious expression came across her face at that, and she stroked his forehead a bit, then his cheek, and his neck. She frowned slowly. There was no pulse.

She let her hand trail lazily down his chest, where she came across the warm, soft cloth and began to wash away the blood.

She continued in that manner, quiet, every once in a while looking at his face while he slept, until the dried blood was gone from his flesh.

She had just gotten up to start something for dinner when she heard him moan from behind her. Glancing over in faint alarm she saw his face contorted in pain.

She rushed to him, kneeling beside the bed, taking his hand in both of hers, her eyes intent upon his face. "N-no," he cried. "You didn't say that- didn't – didn't say that would happen. There will be…there will be consequences…."

She released his hand and tentatively touched his cheek, his mouth. His eyes shot open, but she could tell it was his fever, that he was delirious.

"Damn you devils! Stay away from me!" he said in a hoarse voice. She hushed him, but it did not work. "There will- there will be consequences!" he continued, and she nodded as though to say she understood, which she did not entirely. He lay back down again, clasping her hand. She did not stop him, although she had to lean forward, standing a bit as he held onto her hand so fiercely.

He shut his eyes and his breathing slowly returned to normalcy, and she began to smile a bit upon him, wondering if she had perhaps been wrong.

She looked away and watched the rain on the leaves of trees when she heard an inhuman roar from behind her and felt his grasp on her hand tighten painfully. She turned back and he stood swiftly, pulling her arm with him. She gave a small shriek and he brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them with a snarl, licking away a few droplets of blood she hadn't seen there.

She stood on tiptoe and touched her blood with her fingertips of her free hand, then traced the sign of the cross on the Count's forehead in the crimson liquid.

His expression of cruel amusement faded, the face of a troubled and tortured soul remaining, and he gave a low moan as he sank onto the bed, unconsciously pulling her with him in his delirium. He finally lay back, asleep.

She leaned over his bare chest, looking at his flickering eyelids in quiet calm, her mind thinking fast. A faint smile formed on her lips and she touched her mouth to his forehead, then made the sign of the cross over his sleeping body and slowly removed his fingers from her hand.

She walked over to the kitchen section of her home and stopped. Looking upwards, she whispered a silent plea. "Father, have mercy upon him. Lead him to the safety of your arms and may the peace that inhabits your heart also find his."

She bowed her head and continued her things.

**So, how was it? I'd like to thank those who went through the trouble of reviewing:**

**Audrey: Well, I love Dracula, too. And as for romance…I write so much of that, it isn't much of a romantic romance, if it is indeed, romance. But enjoy…**

**The Gothic Vampire: I'm surprised you liked the second chapter. Just shows how much I know. I hope you liked this one, too. **

**Lady Vladislaus: Yes, Sironka is a help. Things unravel quickly here…**

**Gica (SilverFlover): You really made feel better and the best part is that I had an idea! I guess that fluff really is good for you.**


	4. Beauty in a Beast

_Disclaimer: Dracula belongs to Stephen Sommers and a lot of other people, but if you tell him that, he'll probably set out to kill every single one of them, even if they're already dead! So let's just keep that a secret, 'k?  
__SilverFlover- So him doing things in his sleep…that's written well?  
__Audrey- You think it's interesting, eh?  
__Gothicvamp8000- No offense taken. 'Morbid' is the ultimate compliment for me!  
__LadyValerious- You like my Ocs? Ah, thanks..::bows::  
__Linwe Ringeril- Sironka, marry the devil's son? Not really… Anyway, this is a bit of an odd fic, and I don't exactly think this happened, though it could have…  
__A/n: Hey, it wasn't fluff or Vanessa Carlton that got me on this one again! It was Avril Lavigne!_

"Miss…Sironka, was it?"

A smile flickered across her face. "Yes, that's it…Vladislaus, did you say?"

"That's right. Did I sleep well?"

She laughed. Asking if he had slept well, how interesting. She thought briefly whether she should answer him truthfully or lied.

"Fine," she said, then turned back to what she was doing, which was getting things ready to serve him dinner. Picking the tray up, she walked out to him and handed him the tray, as he was already seated.

"Thank you." His eyes were cold and searching, vaguely concerned, then he turned to the meal.

She knelt beside him while he ate, thinking about things, a look on her face that he couldn't quite place. He looked at her after he'd eaten, then said, "Have you made yourself anything?"

"I already ate," came the reply. He smirked, delighted to find that he was able to do it.

"Delightful. What's next?" He leaned back and made himself more comfortable as she removed the tray from his lap, a smile on the corners of her lips. He found the sight of her tiny, tight black curls and her olive-tinted skin quite easy on his eyes, and he allowed his gaze to follow her as she went about the business of cleaning things off. The movement of her body, the shadows cast by her as she rinsed the silverware off, it kept his mind occupied. When she turned back to him, she found a smile on his face.

"I'll be back, Vladislaus," she said, and left the house. He was shocked. Night had just fallen. He slowly dragged himself up and walked to a window. He couldn't see her. Shaking his head, he went back to the bed and tried to sleep.

He couldn't. It was night; he didn't sleep then. His icy veins were excited with the prospect of spending the night awake, but he knew he wanted to do something. The door flew open and a crack of lightning flashed across the room, brightening it for a moment. In walked Sironka, dripping wet, then the door shut. She walked past him, obviously thinking he was asleep. He looked back to her as she removed her coat and boots, then her jacket. She turned back to him, surprised, but only mildly.

"You're still awake?" He was pleased to note the confusion.

"Why, yes, I suppose I am," he remarked with false shock. "Imagine that?"

"Why?"

"You've forgotten to tell me a bedtime story," he replied, yawning. She stared at him, then walked over to him with an unreadable expression, kneeling beside the bed. He thought for sure she was going to scold him, but when she opened her mouth, the words that came from her lips were, "Once upon a time…"

Surprised, himself, he settled back to listen. Not unpleasant at all.

"There was once a Prince. No- a Count. He lived in a castle all by himself, unmarried. One rainy night when the moon was full, an old man came his house for shelter, and offered him eternal life for his soul. The Count laughingly accepted the offer, thinking he was getting eternal life for free, as it was only an old man. The old man threw off his cloak and with horror, the Count realized much too late that it was a devil. The devil took his soul and left, telling him that he would only be saved if he won the love of an angel before the next full moon. The next day-"

"Wait," Vladislaus interrupted, brow furrowed. This story was disturbing, to say the least, but…"is this the story, 'The Beauty and the Beast'?"

Sironka smiled at him. "Aren't all love stories that way?"

He stared at her, then waved his hand. "Finish…"

"The next day, a woman came across him and rescued him. Count fell in love, and upon falling in love, he discovered that she was an angel, and he kissed her. She died, and he was not saved. The end."

His shocked and dismayed expression was replaced quickly as he raised an eyebrow. "That was it?"

"That was it," Sironka chirped, leaning back on her heels, brushing some dripping curls from her face. "Well, g'night, Vladislaus." She stood and made her way over towards her hammock.

"Sironka?"

She turned back, expectant.

He smirked lazily, leaning back again. "What, no good night kiss?" he teased.

She smiled again, then walked back, to his surprise once more. And he wasn't upset, either.

Sironka took his hand and kissed it, then turned around. By this time, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that wasn't it at all. He grabbed her hand immediately and pulled her back with such a violent jerk that she sprawled across his lap. He seized her shoulders and brought her wet form against his chest, then kissed her lips with passion.

When he finished, he didn't know what he assumed would happen, or what he wanted, but she was not scared, aroused, or anything like that. She just said, simply, "Good night, Vladislaus," with an innocent look that told him she knew he would not sleep at all, then wriggled out of his grasp and went over to her hammock.

He thought about it for an hour or so, then looked back at her to see her sleeping.

By the light of the waxing moon, he could see her still form in the hammock. "Sironka," he said quietly, "why didn't the Count get saved when he kissed the angel?"

He could see a smile appear on her lips and knew she wasn't asleep, either. Or if she was, she was having a nice dream. Did she dream of him?

"Because," she said in a soft voice, a tired voice, "it was too early. The angel didn't love him back."

"Why not?" he asked, irritated.

"Because it was too early. He didn't wait for her to love him back, like he should have."

"Well, why didn't she love him?"

A small, exhausted laugh came from her little corner of the room. "You can't rush things, Vladislaus."

Stunned into silence, he thought that over for about forty-five minutes.

"Sironka?"

There was only silence.

"Sironka? Are you still awake?"

He looked over at her. She wasn't awake. He sighed. Oh, well…

He prepared himself for a night of boredom. Unless…

Unless she had a dream. Ah, well, there was still hope for him, then.

_Sironka. Heh, isn't she being cryptic?! Think over the story, will you? It might be important!! (hint, hint...)_


End file.
